


"you've been drinking tonight, haven't you?"

by realmsoffreedom



Category: Waterparks (Band)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 09:01:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14808299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/realmsoffreedom/pseuds/realmsoffreedom
Summary: “Oh, sonowyou wanna hang out?”





	"you've been drinking tonight, haven't you?"

**Author's Note:**

> this isn't a gawsten oneshot (geoff's name is literally only said once), so i didn't wanna add it to my prompt series story, but it's still part of those prompts i've been doing. i just wanted to shake things up a lil bit. it would've been so easy/predictable to use this for gawsten but one of my friends gave me this idea and i kinda ran with it.
> 
> i love it. hope yall do too. 
> 
> enjoy.

71\. “you’ve been drinking tonight, haven’t you?”

He hasn’t stopped buzzing.

It’s been almost an entire day since their plane touched back down in Houston, almost an entire _three_ days since their meeting with the Maddens, almost an entire week since the phone call that might’ve just changed everything. 

He’s never felt like this before.

This is the first step into a sparkling patch of snow; the first cut into a freshly baked chocolate cake, the first foray into a world that he never thought would be his. He never thought they’d get here he never thought this would happen he never thought it would actually work _holy shit fuck hell it worked it actually worked this is actually going to happen holy shit holy shit holy fucking shit_ -

It’s always been so far away. 

It’s always been the dangling carrot he could never reach. He tore his heart out of his chest and smashed it to pieces, rid himself of its weight and almost tripped over his feet in haste. It’s at the end of an infinite staircase, and he’s spent the last few years climbing, running, forcing his body to keep moving amongst everything flying at him from the other end. 

It’s always been the pipe dream he never thought would happen, his last thought each night and his every 11:11 wish. It’s always been tears in his eyes and a boulder in his stomach, pushing it down to his feet. It’s what he walks around with, a new normal he’s gotten accustomed to, feeling like his body is folding in on itself a little bit more every day. 

It’s _do you really think you can make something out of thats_ and _are you sure quitting college was a good ideas_ and _the Knight boy has definitely ruined his future, that’s for sure_. It’s waning and eroding and reducing his chest to the breadth of a piece of paper. It’s ripping and breaking and _tearing_ , ending up at the wrath of an angry child. It’s always being in the path of destruction with nothing to obstruct it with.

It’s thousands of sleepless nights, blinking against the ache behind his eyes and propping himself up on his elbows, staring at a blank spot on the wall like he’s developed x-ray vision, feeling the boulder in his stomach drop lower and lower, press harder and harder into his skin. It’s a ball that has the power to wreck, like every new day adds a layer of spikes. It just keeps growing and growing, pressing and stinging his skin, swinging back and forth and shattering what’s left of his chest. 

It’s everything.

And he’s been defenseless.

He’s been unarmed, unprepared, untrained, _unaware_ of how to fight a monster that keeps on growing. Every day is a brand new set of _what if I can’t do this what if it doesn’t work out what if I have ruined everything what if it’s all fucked up forever it’s all a mess it’s all gonna be a mess I fucked up I fucked up I fucked up_ -

And that’s when he forces himself to stand, untangles the sheets from his legs and wrenches his body out of bed, when he catches a glimpse of his face in the mirror, sees the greasy hair and oily skin and purple-lined red eyes, the stubble that’s growing into a full-on beard, the dried tear tracks that streak his cheeks, the swelling in the sides of his face that make the fact that he hasn’t eaten in almost two days less noticeable. 

That’s when he finds himself out in the bitter cold, pulling his arms in closer to his body and hunching his shoulders as he hits his hand against glass. He braces himself against paneling and hits against glass and inhales, swallows, _breathes_ , bites his lip and closes his eyes and tries to tell himself _it’ll be okay it’ll be okay it’ll work out everything’ll be fine stop freaking out you’re gonna be fine stop freaking out_ -

It doesn’t work until it’s from a new voice, a higher one, which wraps around his body and seeps itself into his skin, presses back against all the stingers and dulls them, silences them and lets them drop to the ground. It settles against his bones and travels up toward his head, wades through the molasses and slides in between the paint layers of pain, cleanses the inside of his skull, makes him feel like he can finally lift his head above water and not feel the weight dragging him back down.

It doesn’t work until he has nose pressed to shoulder, arms tight around a waist, the thrum of life beating against his chest, until he closes his eyes and inhales and smells the same cologne they first tried in eighth grade and spent years hating because they’d intoxicated themselves when dousing their bodies in the entire bottle. It doesn’t work until there are fingers in his hair and circles rubbed into his skin, lips moving fluidly against the shell of his ear, _you got this, Aws. you’re gonna kill it. you’re gonna do so well and sell out so many stadiums and the whole world’s finally gonna get to hear all those beautiful things in your head and everyone’s gonna get to be almost as proud of you as I am_.

_almost?_

The response was always another kiss against his head. _no one’s ever gonna be more prouda you than me, loser. gonna be in the first row when y’all play the grammy’s, cheering you on so loud they’ll think m’losin’ my fuckin’ mind._

_love you._

_I love you too, you asshole. now get some sleep. gotta long day of makin’ history tomorrow._

_shut up!_

_you know I won’t_. 

And then he’d smile, press his face further into Jawn’s shoulder and tighten his arms around his waist, fall asleep like that, with the smell of Jawn’s shitty cologne and the sound of his heavy breathing and the feeling of his warm body in his arms.

And it always felt like home. 

…

He hasn’t stopped buzzing.

It’s almost midnight and everyone is asleep – _Jawn_ is most definitely asleep – but his hands are shaking and his smile is so wide his cheeks hurt. The world feels like it was covered in a layer of glitter, like he’s looking at life through new lens of bright and shiny and warm and _holy shit holy shit holy shit_ -

This feels big. _Too_ big. It’s the best kind of too much, the kind that wraps around him and squeezes from behind, has lists of reasons he could freak out hiding deep in its core, but on the surface is _this is happening this is actually happening we’re doing this we’re gonna make it finallyfinallyfinally_ -

He reaches for his phone, unlocks it and taps the screen a few times, until he comes to Jawn’s contact. Glancing at the top of the display, he pulls his lip in with his teeth. 

11:46 pm.

He swallows and hits ‘call’.

It rings for a few moments, once, twice, and halfway through a third time, the line connects. The speakers crackle to life and he hears slow breathing on the other end. “Dude, hey, you around? I wanna come over, I’ve got so much shit ta tell you!”

“Oh, so _now_ you wanna hang out?” 

Everything stops.

The world comes to a screeching halt. It feels like someone tipped it on its side, like everything was moved halfway around and they’re all scrambling to find the right end. “W-What?”

“Fuck.” Jawn burps loudly into the phone. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean that just ignore me I was just overthinking it was so stupid don’t even worry about-”

“Whoa, hey, stop.” He forces his voice to stay level. “What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing!” Jawn sounds different. He’s talking slower. His words are starting to slur together. “Don’t worry about it, please, just forget about it…”

“You’re upset,” he deadpans. _Stay calm. Stay calm. You can’t freak out right now. Don’t freak out_. “I’m not gonna forget about it. Talk to me. What’s going on?”

His mind is racing. His heart is pounding. The phone is starting to slide around in his sweaty palms. _Stay calm stay calm stay calm you can’t freak out you can’t freak out_ -

“I just…” Jawn trails off with a hiccup. “I’m just scared.”

“Of what?” 

Jawn sounds like he’s on the verge of tears. His voice is thick. Awsten can see it. Big, red, teary eyes. A quivering lip. Tears on his eyelashes and fanning out onto his cheeks. 

A piece of his heart is smashing itself to the floor. 

“You had that meetin’,” Jawn whispers. “With tha Maddens. You- this is really happening. S’real, now. Y’all are gonna get signed and release and album and go on tour and get really huge and m’still gonna be here and I just-” He lets out a heaving sob. “I knew you’d do it. I knew I’d be alone one day. I just- didn’t think it was here so quick.”

“Open your window,” is all he can manage. His throat is thick and there are already tears falling onto his cheeks. There’s a knot in his chest that they funnel into, a knot that’s growing bigger and bigger. His chest feels like it’s going to pop. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

…

He’s panting by the time he gets to Jawn’s house.

His chest feels like someone lit it aflame. His stomach is in his throat, almost launching itself out through his mouth when he comes to a halt in front of his window. He braces himself, hunches over with his hands on his knees, and takes a few rapid breaths. 

He slides through the window and climbs over the ledge easily. It’s a journey he’s made more times than he’ll ever care to count. 

And then he’s face to face with his best friend of almost ten years, his teary-eyed, red cheeked, messy haired, best friend. He takes a step forward at the same time Jawn does. When they collide, it’s in a tangle of messy limbs wrapping around each other. Jawn throws himself into his chest and Awsten rests his chin on top of his head. He squeezes his abdomen and presses his lips against Jawn’s hair, lets his tears soak into the soft strands and inhales a shaky breath.

And that’s when he smells it. 

He knows that smell. He would know it anywhere. It’s his family at every football game, the odor wafting through the house during holidays and his father’s office parties. It’s a smell that makes his nose curl and his hands shake and brings back _no no no stop I don’t want it stop it don’t_ -

He swallows. “You’ve been drinking tonight, haven’t you?”

Jawn peeks up at him. His eyes are glassy and starting to go unfocused. His body is heavy and his limbs are limp. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t- not too much. Justa…”

Awsten nods and pulls him back against his chest. “Don’t. It’s okay.” He exhales, turns his face up to the ceiling and rubs a hand over his eyes. “You know I love you, right?”

“Aws, you don’t havta do this. It’s fine, I’m just stupid…”

“Shut up.” He takes a step back so he can look Jawn in the eye, moves a hand to his shoulder and meets his gaze before continuing, “we- we may’ve just found management. Benji and Joel wanna do this for us. It’s gonna be huge. But we still havta find a record label and sign a bunch of shit before we even _think_ about an album.” He shakes his head. “And I don’t- I don’t think I’m ready for an album. Not yet. Not until it feels like people actually like us.”

“People love you-”

“But anyway,” he interrupts. “Whatever happens, whether we make 26 albums or don’t even release one, whether we find the best label in the world and end up selling out stadiums or don’t ever get picked up by anyone, whether we really do this or completely fuckin’ fail, I will always love you. And care about you. You’ll always mean the world to me. You’re fuckin’ dumb for even _thinking_ that’d change.” 

“I just-” Jawn hiccups. “I know you’re gonna blow up one day. I _know_ you are. You’re gonna be so big and on the radio all the time and everyone’s gonna be talkin’ about you and you’re not gonna remember stupid old Jawn from back home.”

A sob tears out of his throat. He surges forward and pulls Jawn back into his chest, buries his face in his shoulder as the tears start to fall. “I doubt it,” he chokes out. “Because stupid old Jawn back home is everything to me.”

…

This isn’t a conversation they can have while Jawn is – partly – drunk. He may not be completely inebriated, but Awsten knows the effects of alcohol on people; the fogginess and shakiness and overall confusion that drapes itself over them and sticks as a blanket until the hangover is completely gone. 

And so, he bundles Jawn into bed, and then slips downstairs to fill a glass with water and pulls Advil from the medicine cabinet. Jawn’s not completely wasted and is therefore aware of his surroundings, aware of Awsten leaving the medication and water on his nightstand, and especially aware of him wiggling out of his jeans and slipping into bed next to him. 

They’ll talk about this soon. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not the next day. Maybe not the day after that. But Awsten knows, packages, commits these moments to memory like they’ve been etched on his brain like a tattoo. He bottles the brain wave up and shoves it deep into the hollows of his chest for later, for when he can prepare an actual speech that’ll go on as long as it needs to, until Jawn cuts him off with rose-red cheeks and a uncontainable smile, climbs onto his lap and buries his face in the crook of his neck, breathes _okay. I get it. I love you too, you fuckin’ sap_.

“You’re my best friend,” he murmurs, a few moments later. Jawn’s back is pressed to his chest and their hands are intertwined. He brushes his lips against the back of Jawn’s head and smiles. “You’re everything to me. I thought you knew that. I thought-” He shakes his head. “After we got the news, after everything? Otto was callin’ his mom and Geoff was tryna get his sister on facetime, but all I could think about was you. You’re the person I wanted ta tell, before anyone else. You’re the person I _always_ want ta tell, anything. You’ll always be that for me and I’ll always love you, okay?”

Jawn sighs out a very low ‘okay’. Awsten sighs. He’s still slightly tipsy. His heart is slow and his breathing is slightly shallow. He tightens his arms around Jawn’s abdomen and brings his lips against the side of his head. “I love you. Don’t ever think you’re not important to me. You’re everything. I-I don’t know where I’d be without you. And I’ll always be with you, you’ll always have me, okay? You’re never alone. Whenever you need me and even when you don’t and you want me ta leave you the fuck alone, I’ll be there. You’re stuck with me, I promise you that.”

“Awsten.” Jawn’s voice is so soft. “Please.”

He bites his lip. “Okay. I’ll stop. For now. But someday, _soon_ , we _are_ gonna talk about this, just so I can tell you again – while you’re _sober_ – that you’re fuckin’ amazing and I’d be lost without you. I’ll tell you every day until you get sick of me and even after, promise you that.”

Things lapse into silence after he finishes speaking. All he can hear is the sound of Jawn’s shaky, soft breathing. He brings his lips right against Jawn’s ear. “And by the way, you know you’re coming with us, right?”

“W-What?”

“I don’t wanna do this without you,” he replies. “It wouldn’t feel right. Wherever I go, you’re coming with.”

“Awsten-”

“I’m not doin’ a tour if you’re not coming ‘long as our photographer. You can fuckin’ count on that.”

“Really?”

He presses his lips against the side of Jawn’s head again. “Really, you asshole. You can’t get rid of me now. Don’t even try. You’re stuck with me for life.”


End file.
